Happy Halloween!!!!

In honor of Halloween and to put out a few link on this frightful day, I present...


10 things to do with your body after you are dead.

I am a advocate for organ donations. Thousands of people die each year in the United States and across the world because of a lack of organ donation volunteers. In most states it is simply a matter of updating your driver's license record to indicate that you are a an organ donor. In some states you have to fill out a form and other states, and countries,  you are assumed to be a donor unless you designate otherwise. This is the model I would like to see. If you are dead and you haven't objected in advance, we should be able to take what we need to save others. I guess saying "we" sounds a bit creepy, but I hope you know it we mean.

If you're interested in becoming a donor please click here and start the process.  If you live outside the United States please contact your local government to see how you can sign up.


If you want to donate your body to a local medical school, please contact the school directly. 
Here is one example.       Here is another

Whatever your plans are for after you pass on, please discuss them with your family. Make your wishes explicitly known in documents such as power of attorney, a living will, last will and testament, or a personal trust.  These document names are in layman's terms so please consult your attorney or local resources for more information.

It is not enough to tell your spouse that you think being in a body farm would be "cool" as you watch an episode of NCIS.  It is not enough to have a discussion over the dinner table that you think it would be neat to be an organ donor.  Take the time to discuss it seriously with your spouse or significant other, and your parents if they are alive. Confusion within a family as to the wishes of the deceased frequently delays donation long enough that the donor organs are no longer viable.

If your family has conflicting feelings about organ or body donation based on religious beliefs, it is extremely important that you get your wishes in writing, even to the point of stating potential conflicts within the family. You may want to say something like this. "Despite objections within my immediate family over to the appropriateness of body donations based on religious beliefs I, John Q. Donor, explicitly state my wishes to be an organ/body donor at the time of my death. I give the medical establishment in custody of my body at my time of death to take appropriate steps to donate any and all organs still viable at the time of death."

Again, I am not an attorney nor do I play one on TV, I am just stating out loud so the discussions I have had as I have prepared the documents for my death.

So please, please, please, consider signing up to be an organ donor.  On this day, when we celebrate the thin line between life and death, celebrate life by making your body useful in death. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here is a list of more links on the topic
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What organizations can I contact to learn more about organ donation and transplantation?

Donate Life America
donatelife.net
LifeBanc
www.lifebanc.org
1.888.558.5433
Scientific Registry of Transplant Recipients
www.ustransplant.org
National Kidney Foundation
www.kidney.org
National Marrow Donor Program
www.marrow.org
Children's Organ Transplant Association
www.cota.org
Eye Bank Association of America
www.restoresight.org
National Minority Organ Tissue Transplant Education Program
www.nationalmottep.org
Office of Minority Health, Office of the Secretary
www.omhrc.gov
The Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network
www.optn.org
Second Wind
www.2ndwind.org
Transplant Living
www.transplantliving.org
Transplant Recipients International Organization, Inc
www.trioweb.org/
TransWeb
www.transweb.org
U.S. Department of Health and Human Services
Secretary's Organ Donation Initiative
www.organdonor.gov
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And, if you really showed up just to find sexy Halloween costumes, click here, and enjoy.

FFF - Happy Halloween!!!

 

Happy Halloween! Your challenge is to use the artwork above to write a flash fiction of 150-275 words

and the phrase,   "...cold and dead..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The family barrister will have to be called, of course.

Yes Sir, of course, shall I ring him now or shall I wait?

Let's wait a minute, find out more. Has he moved since you arrived?

No sir, he just sits there.

Has he said anything?

No

Who informed the station?

The housekeeper sir, she came in at her normal hour of 6 AM and found them both here.

Have you determined at the time of death?

No sir, and that's the strange thing, she ain't dead.

What in the Queen's name do you mean?

She ain't dead sir.  She has a pulse and if you hold a mirror up to her nose it steams.

Then why are we here?

Because of him, Sir

What do you mean?

It's him who we’re here for, he's been cold and dead for a week.

Dissolution (dis-uh-loo-shuhn) – Noun – A bringing or coming to an end; disintegration; decay; termination

“Jonathon dear, what are you doing?”  Her tremulous voice broke the dusty stillness.

“She was going to leave me mother,” his hand slowly moved up and down his cold and dead member, "I couldn't... I couldn't let that happen.” he said.

“What have you done?” tears were coming to her voice now as she dropped to her knees next to the cooling skin, “What have you done to our dear sister?”

“She was no sister of mine!” he shouted, shaken out of his stupor. She arrived at the clearing with her hexes and charms and vexed me from the beginning!”  His anger grew as did his body. “She was no sister!  She was as a common witch if ever there was one!”

“But you are the chieftain my son, you invited her in, you should have been able to control her.”  The old woman’s breathing quickened as her hands roamed over the cold skin.

“But look at her mother,” He knelt opposite and four hands caressed together, “No magic, white or black, could control this.”

The old woman cackled as her boney fingers explored cold, dead flesh.  “Can you control her now?”  A sneer curled her lip as she mocked her impotent son., “Can you control her now my son, even in death?”

“No,” he said, raising the veil for a final kiss, “I have lost her forever, and in death she will rule as never before.”

The house was cold and dead, as was she.  He was sure of that now.

He looked at her, his softening member in his hand and felt the tears rumble behind his tired eyes.  He did not let them flow, emotions were for the living.

Placing his hand upon her bare breast he felt her temperature dropping.  It wouldn’t be long now.  He stood and straightened himself and wiped off the last of his essence with her handkerchief, laughing to himself at the final insult.

But no, this was not the final insult, was it.?  The door to back yard yawned, hinges creaked, and the old wood beneath his feet protested his weight.  Gossamer clouds drifted through a moonless sky as he picked up the spade to complete his task. 

The box was ready, lined in clay, covered in plastic.  It would do nicely, the chemicals would be contained to do their work without leaking.  He laughed, wondering what magic might be worked on the bugs and worms if his formula was to escape into the world of living flesh. 

The hole was finished, the box in place, the lid prepared.  It was ready.

He gathered up her suitcase and clothes and placed them in the furnace.  No one would question an active smokestack on a night as chill as this.  Her limbs were stiffer than before, but once more he laid claim to her to finish his preparations.

She felt heavier now than during her feeble struggle but he managed the stairs and laid her in gently.  The dark fluids coated and covered and sizzled as they filled and surrounded her.  Bending low, he fastened the lid, and replaced the rich earth.

He looked skyward and smiled.  Two weeks until the harvest moon. 

When I first saw this picture I was impressed with stillness, a sense of time suspended in the wake of horrible choices. I could not imagine, at first, intruding onto the scene. I imagined, were I the cinematographer, a long opening shot with the only movement the wafting smoke that came from the vial on the table. No music, no motion, but air thick with regret, loss, the pain of a revocable action. As I sat down to write I had to introduce another character because the two in the picture would never move. They were death’s tableau.

After the first story I began to think it on a wider scale, trying to get into the spirit of Halloween and horror, a genre in which I have never worked. Perhaps my attempts are derivative of the few horror movies I have seen, but with a great sense of loss there is a equal attempt to regain. I will admit, that piece #3 now reminds me of Stephen King's "Pet Cemetery."  I promise that I did not think of this until just now. I have not read that book for many, many years but, I promise, it is still, a good read on a stormy night.

Story #2, perhaps the weakest of the three, reminds us that the struggle for power does not end at death. Good and evil will battle here and beyond and though we may win a temporary skirmish, we sometimes leave our enemies stronger than before.

So forgive me for posting late, and I hope you enjoy your Halloween reading.


Drenchxoxo:  http://thedrenchedone.blogspot.com
Rozewolf:  http://wordwytch.wordpress.com
Spring Flower:  http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com
Oversexed Librarian:  http://oversexedlibrarian.blogspot.com  (OL is new this week; go say welcome!)
Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com
Lilith Pane:  http://countercultstories.blogspot.com   (Lilith is a last-minute addition, and is also new this week; please go say welcome)
Kenny:  http://secretlifeofagentleman.blogspot.com  (another extreme last-minute addition) 

 

Dissatisfaction - A Rant

Is the Internet good or bad?

I'm not going to answer that that a global scale but I am going to address one area where it is bad. The Internet creates dissatisfaction.

When we are unhappy or frustrated at home, it is easy to turn to the Internet for false alternatives. I say false because 99% of the time we are unwilling or unable to take advantage of the opportunities we see on the Internet. If you go to tumblr.com you can, within minutes, follow the picture posts of several beautiful people who find the same images that you find attractive.

You see in the pictures they select a kindred spirit in you feel as if you might have an emotional connection to them if you could only get to know them.

At other times you go to the standard scapegoat, porn, and see hundreds if not thousands of beautiful women doing any sexual act you want to see. You want lesbians? We got lesbians. You want solo girls? Just tell me how many holes you want to fill and I can find you a video.

The Internet has boys, girls, couples, animals, vegetables, minerals if you look hard enough, and they are all better looking than your spouse and they will do things your spouse would never dream of. Other times it's not just sexual.

On the Internet you can find and meet people from all walks of life. I have met and become friends with many different types of people that I would never have known otherwise. For the balance, this is a very good thing. I love my Internet friends and consider them closer than most of my in-person friends. (I have decided to stop using the phrase “my real life” to describe things that don't happen online. My online life is, perhaps sadly, my real life.)

But dissatisfaction creeps in when you realize that no one person, no spouse, no boyfriend, no girlfriend; no lover can fulfill all of the different things you find on the Internet. I have friends who are athletes, Greek scholars, computer wizards, financial geniuses, wonderful parents, voracious lovers, sexually adventurous, legally crazy, and socially inept. I love them for what they are, but they certainly can't all exist in one person.

I believe it is unavoidable, and sometimes by accident, though mostly on purpose, that we compare our current situation to fantasies we find on the Internet. My wife is beautiful, but not as beautiful as some. My wife is good in bed, but not as enthusiastic as others. My home is nice but smaller than most. My car runs but it is older than most, yet younger than some. So I have to choose, do I remain happy with what I have or do I constantly compare myself, my life, my wife, to all that I see around me and let dissatisfaction ruled the day?

My on-line friends fill many different niches in my life that I feel are unfulfilled currently. We flirt, we laugh, we talk, we share pain and tears, and we touch and we cum. I do all of these things at home. Nothing in person, however, can match the intensity of the constantly new experiences available on the Internet. If I get tired of one, I turned to another. If one friend won't play I will find another who will. When all the while, and on their own, these wonderful friends are just that, wonderful.  They just aren’t available, or in the mood, or at work, or at home or on-line at the moment my spoiled little head wants them to be.

The Internet also makes a dissatisfied with me. I have never been as tall, strong, fast, skinny, or as handsome as I would like to be. I do not make as much money as I think I need, nor am I as smart as I want. I am constantly reminded of this because now, thanks to the Internet, I can be rejected by a much wider range of women than ever before.

Most of the time it's not even rejection, it's timing, it's time zones, it's one person's busy day versus me being bored at my job. Can you talk? Can you play? Are you ignoring your kids to be online with me? Are you texting while driving? Is my boredom putting your life and marriage and happiness risk?

The Internet throws us into a stew of people and hormones and ideas that make a real life, and I mean my real life boring by comparison. Have you had a three-way lately? Has your wife brought home her sexy girlfriend from work and offered you unlimited pleasure? Have you been ass-fisted by the perfect hand and brought to an orgasm that made you see stars and praise heaven? Is your spouse Playboy beautiful or Brad Pitt hunky? No? Well get on the Internet, because somebody had that happen to them today, just now, and they posted about it.

Dissatisfaction is the uneasy feeling that you do not have what you want, or worse, you do not have what you deserve, and worst of all, that you never will. It makes you look around your home and around your marriage and think that you should of; you could have, done better. In reality, most of us end up just where we should be. We are matched with a partner who is as good-looking as we are, who wants to work as hard with money as we do, and eventually wants to fucked just as much or as little as we can handle. There are genuine disengagements within a marriage, of course.  Desires change over time and we discover ourselves growing in different directions but most of the time, we have to make up shit to be mad about.

You might be able to guess that I am not in the best of moods today. This is really unrelated to anything that's happening around me. I've had sex twice this week, I helped a friend to a beautiful orgasm online, I gave what I think is good advice to another friend; I made some new friends on "Love Your Lurkers Day”, and the weather outside my office is absolutely perfect. What is really going on is that I currently hate my job. It is boring it is pointless it is repetitive and if I had a current viable alternative, I would take it. I should not complain.  Millions are without work. It's just that right now I hate this crap. I have been saddled with a software tool that does not work and to top it off, we have no support, no expertise, and the one person at the vendor be relied upon has been fired and is no longer around. This I am afraid it is spilling into other areas and if I was short, terse, or just shitty to anyone today, I am sorry.

Dissatisfaction. I don't like it.

 

Motivation

This may be a bit more "direct" than some of my other pieces, but real life inspires some strange conversations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a long and difficult day.  West Coast vendors with East Coast attitudes vexed her from the starting bell onward.  


I’m too tired for an assignment tonight.”  she sighed, “I just need to sleep.”  


“But that is not what I requested.” was my terse Twitter reply.


“Don’t you dare twitter my assignments, you promised!”  
 
Her anger was palpable, even through the cold glass of my monitor.

Switching back to my desktop, I replied, “Do you want to please me?”


“yes” appeared on my screen.


“Then what do you need from me?” I inquired.


“Will you give me some motivation tonight? Of all nights?”  
 
A simple request to change the mood, and set the tone....


You need motivation to cum?

Do you need thoughts in your head that translate down to your fingers?
Fingers that will pinch and hold and pull at hardened nipples?


Do you need motivation to imagine my lips on your bare skin?
     Kissing up and down your neck as my hands pull your head back,
    Exposing raw flesh to me?


Do you want me to put dirty thoughts in your head so that you can masturbate?

    “Yes, please”


You want me to tell you what to do?
Or just put thoughts in your head?

    “Yes, both, either, help me....”


Then re-read the paragraph you wrote for me,
    the dirty thoughts you shared,
        while sitting next to the man who’s name you bear

Imagine feeling my cock slide in and out of your serving mouth

You feel the ridge of my head sliding across your tongue,

and, after the swallowing is done, my cock, wet with cum and saliva,
        comes to your lips for a kiss
            then drags moisture across your face, marking you as mine,  
                  marking you with cum and lust.

You look up at me and show me an empty throat, fresh from swallowing,
I place my fingers inside, allowing your to suck again in memory.


I reach down and grab both breasts, full, firm, sensual, and lift you to your feet
I kiss you and taste myself on your well-fed tongue


My fingers are rough on your tender nipples but I give no heed to your complaints
Leading you by the tit I take you to the living room and position you over your favorite sofa chair


So that I might watch my TV as I take you
and fuck you until you cum, and cum, and cum again.



There is your motivation, now go, and please me.....

You're gonna eat lightning and you're gonna crap thunder

I am a sucker for old sports movies…..  Last week I was the plane ride home from a business trip and I got bumped up to first class (yeah!!!), and Rocky IV was on Direct TV.  This is the one where he’s fighting the Russian guy.  In the previous movie, Rocky III, Apollo Creed was killed by the Russian during a fight.  Rocky leaves behind the modern training methods and goes ‘old school’, stomping through the snow, working out in the woods, growing a beard, all that good stuff.  I picked up the movie right before the final fight.  In Round One, Rocky gets the crap beat out of him.  He can’t get inside Drago’s long reach and punch after punch lands to devastating effect.  Round Two is more of the same with Drago picking him up and throwing him to the corner.  But then it happens, as it does in all Rocky movies, Rocky comes out of the corner and lands a punch that cuts the Russian under the eye.  In front of the entire Russian high command Rocky cuts the invincible hero of the Motherland, proving that he’s a mortal, (learning moment), just like the rest of us.[1]

Finally it starts, the music that makes my heart pound and brings a tear to the corner of my eye.  The music swells, the punches fly, blood flows, and both men, both fighters, show their humanity, grit, strength, and guts (and yes, I know it’s just a movie).  I don’t know of many athletes who don’t wish for that Rocky moment, that time in a game, a match, a race when you hear that music in your head.  If you came from my era, if you were any where near a high school in the 80’s this is the music that plays every time you past the final mile marker, every time you see the top of the hill, the long flight of stairs, or imagine your opponent walking on to the field in slow motion.

The end of the movie is just another cheesy Balboa speech culminating in Gorbachev standing to cheer, but every Rocky movie has that special moment when the hero raises up.  And it sucks me in every time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I re-read this before sending it to blog, I was flashing back on my time in high school with the marching band.  We had a great program at my high school and every summer, as we got ready for football season and the marching band competitions, we would re-learn the theme to Rocky.   Four years in a row we passed out the music and learned it note by note.  The older kids wanted to play it from memory, but that wasn't good enough.  Our conductor loved the theme music and new what it meant to the people listening, to our football team, to every one in the crowd that needed to be lifted up and feel like they were part of a championship season.  

Every year we learned a new marching routine to the same music, but every year it ended the same, a power front where the whole band wheels around from facing away from the home team side and comes at the audience as 150-kid wall of sound.  I will tell you that if there was a dry eye in the house I couldn't find it.  Say what you will about the sequels, but the original caught the spirit of competition, camaraderie between athlete and coach (I dare you to tell me that you didn't bawl when Mickie died.), and the love a a wife for a husband chasing an impossible dream.  

It will always be for me, one of the best sports movies of all time.

---

[1] Rocky was never subtle, but we all know that by now.

"For Him" as Written For Her.

He made her stand at the table and wait.


From where he stood he could see her wedding ring and her painted nails. She had come to him, as commanded, straight from work. She was allowed to choose her own clothes when she dressed in the morning, but when she got to his home, his rules were enforced, beginning at the door to the garage. She used the nondescript remote that stayed clipped inside her purse. to open the door.  As the noisy door rolled down behind her, her heart began to beat  to his rhythm.  On the bare cement of his garage, flanked by his two favorite cars, she changed for him.  Her clothes, her choices, her control was left behind until he was done with her for the evening.  


The simple peasant blouse was waiting for her in a shopping bag from her favorite store.  Now it hung lightly on her shoulders covering her chest and flat stomach, but little else, for she was given nothing else to wear.  Her skin tingled and shivered under the light fabric.  Feeling the cotton teasing her skin, she was tempted to steal a touch, but resisted.  She knew what she was supposed to do and did it well. She turned the knob on the the oak door and walked in.  She placed her hands on the table, and waited.


The last time they were together he made her tell him a story and she told him of her desire to be spanked, to feel her lover's hand strike, and strike again. The story so aroused her that she was able to climax without even being touched, a testament to the wonderful workings of her mind, her fanciful imagination. It had pleased him deeply and she was allowed to relive the moment in the days that followed, but with the soft touch of her own encouraging hand.


Now he stood unseen and watched her as she fidgeted back and forth. The Italian tile was hard on her bare feet and the stones were cold even though the room was heated to keep her comfortable while in a state of undress.  She felt her body responding to memories she kept hidden while at home with her husband:  trying to explain the bruises on her knees, the diagonal lines on her back, the marks on her wrists.


She focused her mind and smiled.  She was rarely allowed to wear clothes once inside his home. She joked that she was being treated as a house elf at Hogwarts, only allowed to wear the clothes she could find for herself. But his home, this home, was the only one she was invited to and it was not a place for her comfort. She knew he had other homes, and assumed other women, but had little knowledge of any of them. This was his home in her city, his home where he came for her. This was his home for pleasure.


They had met online, through her blog, her writing had caught his attention before any pictures had ever been posted.  After spending an afternoon enraptured by her words, he determined to make her one of his prized possessions. It did not take long, for in him she found what she was seeking, and he found what he needed. From the beginning her words inflamed and stirred his soul, and his tenderness and authority claimed hers.


She loved him when he was kind to her, she craved him when he was stern. Today she did not care.  Rough or gentle, as lover or master, she had to have him, she needed to have him. She had made an excuse to stay late after school at the risk of angering her husband.  His control was of a different kind, control through fear and anger.  It was control she resisted, but now, she thought, she stood almost naked on cold tile, perfectly content, to obey every command.


"I’m going out for coffee with the some of the girls from work." was all she told him.


“Which girls?” he asked.


“Only the good ones,” she replied, “I’m going to follow the rules tonight.”  


She suppressed her laugh as she waved goodbye and walked down the street to the bus stop.  


I’m going to obey every rule he gives me.  She admitted to her self.


She used her phone to send short text message to his phone.  "Clarice will bring me home. XOXO.”  This was not a lie. Her lover had arranged for her girlfriend Clarice to bring her home, because, he promised, by the end of the evening, she would be in no condition to drive.


"Spread yourself for me." She shivered at the first sound of her his voice and her mind snapped back to attention.  Her center was warm, her body ready, her mind reeling from simple anticipation.


She complied eagerly, willingly, hoping to please him with every instruction of the evening. Her manicured fingertips left the warm wood and reached behind her.  She felt her bare skin and gasped. Her climax was already waiting in the wings and she had to breathe deeply and control herself so that she would not cum before he allowed her that honor.  She felt the fullness of her bottom in her hands and pulled gently.  She loved the feeling of exposure under his command.  he had taught her, no, he had trained her to be bold and confident with her body.  Whether spread eagles on his silk comforter, or walking naked through his home, or as now, bent over a kitchen table, her body was his for observation, appreciation, or desecration, what ever he saw fit.  


She heard two noises behind her.  She couldn’t hear him over the beating of her heart.  He moved calmly, almost silently, with practiced stealth to not disturb her when under his command.  She knew he was there, but in this position, her long brown hair blocking the view, she saw only the top of the table, complex swirls of wood grained which filled her vision as she wondered.  One sounded like a pot on the stove, the other was the opening of the refrigerator as she felt the cool air pool around her ankles. Then she felt his presence behind her and with a soft tap of his foot on the inside of her left ankle, she spread her feet as she had spread her cheeks for him.


That phrase, "for him" resonated through her willing mind and again she had to breathe deeply and repeat her control phrase as to avoid early release.  I do all things, “for him’ she thought.  She lied to her husband, “for him”, she learned new acts of depravity, “for him”, she dressed, sang, bathed, ate, breathed, “For Him.”


Tears formed in the corner of her deep brown eyes. Her chest heaved and she felt her nipples scrape back and forth against the blouse she wore, “for him.”  She felt her back ache as she remained bent over, hands back, open, exposed, “for him” she thought.  Finally his touch, his healing touch was on her, his smooth fingertips brought warm and fragrant lubricant to her body that was entirely unnecessary at this point. Her body was producing ample and more, but he was always gentle with the first intrusion, and she appreciated the gesture.


Her ears had not fooled her, for with two decisive strokes she was filled and more.  One shaft of glass, large, veined, bought together, but never used, had been cooled next to the milk and now slipped into her fire-hot cunt. The contrast made her back arch and buck, but he hand, now free, took hold at the base of her neck as the other shaft, warmed in the water of the stove, penetrated past her fingers and in to her backside as he whispered in her ear,


“You may cum for me now.”


She willingly complied.  For him.

Sunday's Sermon....

A dear friend sent this specifically to share today.  It made me laugh.....

Where is that fine line between sharing, and shoving?  Between testifying and imposing? 

My faith has always be important to me, even when I'm not making it important, but I'm also very careful that when I share my thoughts it is in a welcoming and  honest environment where "Thanks, but no thanks" is taken very seriously.  When you are done listening, I'm done talking, and, if I've done my job right, I've stopped talking well before you reached that point.

Have a great Sunday!!

Going back jail...

What do we have to do to get this girl clean and sober?

Come On Lindsey!

Pull it together

And what is this one doing right?

Everything

Sexy Saturday....(and a lazy man's post)

Amanda Seyfried is the latest "it" girl, but I just don't see it.

A secluded parking spot over the city, a quiet night, a naked girl.... 
If she had Pink Floyd tickets for later it would be perfect.

I may have posted this before, but it's an amazingly sexy picture.

My weekend plans if all goes well.

I'm sure they are photoshopped, but those eyes slay me.

I've always said the only way to get all of your clothes clean at the same time is to do laundry naked.

I love not having neighbors.....

I shaved for you, will you shave for me?

To feel the warmth of the sun on my ass more often,
goals to live by.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know it's kind of lazy just to post other people's pictures, but I'm writing a piece for a friend of mine and needed some inspiration.  It's about the outdoors, and guests, a blanket, and a chain.......

FFF - Oct 22 - A sneer curled her lip....

“Seriously love,” she said as a sneer curled her lip, "Are you just going to stand there all day like a wanker or are you going to get your money's worth?”

"I'm sorry," I stammered, barely able to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence, "it's just, well, it's just that it's…" Fighting panic, I reached into my pocket and grabbed the wad of bills my father had given me and threw them on the bed.

She laughed.  She threw her head back and laughed, shaking the curls that covered her bare shoulders as she dropped the silken sheets.

"Is that what this is all about little boy? Did Daddy give you money for your first little fucky fuck?”

I heard the words and felt the shame of her intention but I was transfixed and unable to respond. She stood there, a real, naked, woman, and she was there to take me for the first time. That was all that mattered. Her sneer meant nothing.

The four steps across the carpet between us seemed like a thousand miles but somehow I crossed them. With matching height we stared at each other eye-to-eye and I reached out and touched my first breast.  It was perfection and I could feel the heat of her skin on the palm of my hand. Making a circle between my thumb and forefinger I slowly cupped and caressed the skin as it came to its bumpy point and without any forethought I took her nipple between my fingers and pinched, hard.

“Shit love," she tried to back away "that hurts."

"I know." I felt nothing except the speeding freight train of my heart as I realized the tables were turning, and as a sneer curled my lip, I said, "I think it is supposed to."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is fiction, however......

Is there a moment when a man turns? When he changes from shy and oppressed too angry and vindictive? Where is that moment when he realizes that he is stronger physically than she is mentally? Where does the man become criminal when he realizes that might makes right?

The movie cliché of visiting a hooker for your first sexual experience goes way back in American cinema. The shy boy who can't get the girl on his own is taken or forced or funded by friends expecting much hilarity and sexual embarrassment to ensue. For those who see virginity as a burden and women as the feared enemy, the situation is fraught with emotion.

You feel the failure of not being able to get a woman without paying the price.  You fear being unable to perform up to your expectations, and you fear the painful disdain of a professional who has seen it all and knows what failure smells like. So I put myself in his shoes and imagined what it must feel like to make the discovery of your own strength at the moment of greatest humiliation.

Does that strength turn to confidence, to dominance, or does it leap across social norms and turn into subjugation of the enemy.  Did he, at that moment, relive every painful high school rejection at the hands of the beautiful girl? Does he have a certain girl in mind, perhaps the girl next door who was his best friend until puberty intervened and she became, "that girl."

Where did he hide his pain?  Where do we hide our pain? Can we store it deep enough that it does not come to the surface when given the opportunity? Do we suppress and hide and control the anger of a million humiliations until we find the perfect victim? Or can we truly let go of the pains of our past and find peace?

Where do we go when we discover the ability to control and return pain to others?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Go see who is is playing along at http://insatiabear.blogspot.com/

Soren:  http://amorousdays.blogspot.com
Drenchxoxo:  http://thedrenchedone.blogspot.com
Rozewolf:  http://wordwytch.wordpress.com
Lexi:  http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com
Just a Taste:  http://sexandchocolatecake.blogspot.com
Big Geek:  http://getting-a-grip.blogspot.com
Cara:  http://bigakboy.wordpress.com
Spring Flower:  http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com
Advizor:  http://advizortoall.blogspot.com
Max:  http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com 
 

Love your Lurker's Day!!

I have seen this on several other blogs and wanted to share the sentiment.  Today is "Love your Lurkers" day, and I love you all.  I have 74 "followers" but I know that many of them are no longer active on the web, and that at least one is dead.  (It wasn't too sad, it was expected, which, I guess, doesn't make it not sad, just less sad, that but that's for another post.)

Many of your wonderful followers, and I do mean that, have never left a comment, but you make me feel better by hanging around.  I know that no one has something to say on every post, but I'd love to hear from my long time lurkers, even if it's just to say hello.

And to those of you who are new to this little blog, welcome.

I know that my blog is hard to pin down some weeks.  Yesterday I posted a couple of links to some classic porn, on other days, it may be poetry, usually inspired by a woman who sparked my interest.  Other days you might get my attempts at erotica (wait for Monday), humor, some comics I liked, and occasionally, thoughts on dating, fucking, reading, voting, and just being alive.  I reserve the right to do what ever I want, that's the joy of blogging on your own blog.  :-) 

I try not to be offensive, but I am sure to offend on occasion.  I may make a joke you find tasteless, refer to a sex act you find icky, and, if you e-mail me long enough, I'll say something stupid to make you mad.  I appreciate my readers that have stuck through all of those phases.  Some have gotten mad and left, and now I'm a lurker on their sites, others stormed off and then came back (thank you), and some stormed off, vowed never to return, called me names, cursed my parent who birthed me, and are now some of my closest friends (not really, but I still miss them.)

Blogging has allowed me to meet many many different people that never would have entered my life without it.  I love you all.  And to those who lurk without saying hi, I love you too, really, now get undressed and send me a picture.

Have a wonderful day lurking about!!!

But I'd love it more if you'd say hello.

And please forgive the typo's, it's getting late, and I'm tired.  :-)

Yes, I know she is an actress.... but....

...this is still one of my favorite clips...



http://www.redtube.com/2359

and here are a few more in the same vein...
http://www.redtube.com/new?search=sybian


and here are a few more of the lovely Ms. Haze

Sunday Funnies.... on Tuesday....

I didn't have a lot to say for today's post, so I'll just put up some of my favorite comics from the past few weeks, some are surprisingly sexual, which is always a nice surprise, unless you are the parent who has to explain things...

 "Popping Wood" takes on a whole new meaning.  Is he taking Viagra or fertilizer?

"How I met your Mother - The original series"

Never lie about your resume, they will find out eventually

It's all in how you define the terms of the discussion.
:-)

Which is worse?

 Have a great Tuesday!!

Boy George was Really Gay.....

I almost titled this "Anderson Cooper v. Boy George" or something like that, but that wasn't the point of the "Ah Ha" moment I had this afternoon.  More after the video....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmQVWH9u8Xo




____________________________________________
Boy George was really gay.

This struck me today in new way, and with 27 years of hindsight. 

You can read the title as "Boy George was Really Gay" as in was extremely gay, a far outlier on the Kinsey scale, or you can say he was "really gay" as in was, in fact, a gay man.

Most of you are nodding your head and saying, "Well, Duh..."  but let me share the light bulb moment. 

I grew up in a white (97% white, 1% Latino, 1% Islander, and 1% people we didn't know) neighborhood.  We all went to church and school together.  The boys all lined up in our under pants for physicals to go to the same scout camps, we had the same accents, liked the same TV shows (Happy Days and 6 Million Dollar Man) and all had crushes on Farah Fawcett and her right nipple.

The point was that we were the same.  We thought alike, we played a like, we all probably jerked off with our right hand while holding Farah in our left.  Then came Boy George and Culture Club.

No, we didn't put him in our right and jerk off with the left, but he did change things. 

At first I though that BG was just weird.  The hair, the clothes, the makeup.  This was the time of Flock of Seagulls,  and bad hair and Member's Only jackets and fashion disasters of epic proportions, but even within this framework, BG was out there.  He was so far out there that we didn't even notice he was gay.  He was so far past flamboyant that it was a caricature of gay culture itself.  He was really gay.  As in way gay, so gay he wasn't even gay anymore, so gay he made gay men feel straight. 

His personal look was so bizarre for the time that, for my friends and I, it over shadowed everything else.  Did we think he was a "homo"? Yeah, I'm sure we did.  But the strangeness, that sense of "otherness" allowed us to look beyond it and enjoy his music, concerts, videos (if just for laughs), and I'll admit I knew the words to all of his top hits.  Even my friends who were virulently homophobic gave him a pass.  Wham! got their derision, Culture Club?  They were the circus, and safe.

Why?  Because Wham looked "gay". 

But what happened today?  I was watching "Culture Club" You Tube videos to get some lyrics for a friend of mine, "Do you really want to hurt me, Do you really want to make me cry." When I realized just how gay CC's videos were.  The iconography which we recognize now was all there, the hair cuts, the androgyny, the dance moves, the EMO-esque look,, the cut off sleeves, the Old Man with the Boy Toy, it was all there, we just didn't have the vocabulary to name it at the time.  It was so new, so different, that for 16 year old boys we didn't even know how to discuss it. 

Now, years later more experienced, wiser (I hope), more understanding, I can see past the persona to the person.  I realized that I've moved from "Wow, he is really gay (what a freak)" to "Really, he's gay (so what)".

This is not to say how wonderful and enlightened I am, but to hope that we are all making that same transition, from noticing the otherness of others to accepting those differences as a definition of who they (we) are.  A friend of mine in college brought the first black guy into our circle.  When I asked why they were friends, he said that one of the reasons he made friends with him was because he was black, he brought in a new perspective, a different life story, and new understanding of how the world worked and my friend liked that.  He was tired of hanging out with people who were just like himself. 

The novelty of having "a black friend" had to be replaced by genuine friendship, just like I had to get past the social cache of being the straight guy with a gay roommate in grad school.  After the newness wears off, real friendship has to develop, and with that friendship some understanding.

I want people see my gay and lesbian friends as really gay.  No, really, they are gay.  I want them to be able to live their life free of fear, to be left alone when they want to be left alone, to have the rights and protections of all American citizens, and to be gay, really gay. 

But, if you dress like Boy George, I'm still going to think you are weird.